


Whiteboard

by writergirl8



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day she comes upstairs and someone has written all of the lyrics to the Spongebob Square Pants theme song on her board. <br/>Well. That’s not what Lydia wanted. She had intended it to be for messages, or cute drawings from the group of friends she’s already cultivating. Annoyed, she erases it.</p><p>The next day, she gets back to her dorm room after dinner and sees the lyrics to a song to an SNL sketch written in sloppy boy handwriting. Lydia erases it again. But then the day after that, in the same handwriting, someone has written all the digits of pi that they could fit. The day after that it’s something in Chinese. Then brail. </p><p>Now Lydia’s intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiteboard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This is just a quick head canon I wrote for Polina (trashstiles on tumblr) in an iMessage... and then it was pointed out to me that it is fic length so I posted it here in case anybody else would enjoy it. 
> 
> This honestly was written in head canon form and not one-shot form, so it's clearly not up to my usual writing par, but it's still Stiles and Lydia, so eh.

When Lydia moves into her dorm room in September, she barely plays attention to her across the hall neighbor. He’s a nice enough guy, with hair that flops into his doe-like eyes, but she is far more interested in hanging up her paintings, making her bed with her brand-new bedspread, and sticking her whiteboard on the outside of the door to her dorm room. Sure, she intends to socialize eventually, but in the beginning of the year, she doesn’t pay any attention at all to her across-the-hall neighbor or the people he hangs out with. Besides-- he isn’t really her type.

Then again, maybe coming to college means that she doesn’t have to have a type anymore. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s here to study, not to be the same person as she was in high school, so she doesn’t really pay attention to Scott, or the people he hangs out with, until one day she comes upstairs and someone has written all of the lyrics to the Spongebob Square Pants theme song on her board.

Well. That’s not what Lydia wanted. She had intended it to be for messages, or for cute drawings from the group of friends she’s already cultivating. Annoyed, she erases it.

The next day, she gets back to her dorm room after dinner and sees the lyrics to a song to an SNL sketch written in sloppy boy handwriting. Annoyed, Lydia erases it again. But then the day after that, in the same handwriting, someone has written all the digits of pi that they could fit. The day after that it’s something in Chinese. Then brail.

 _Now_ Lydia is intrigued. She begins to respond to the things on her board, or add her own references to them. They begin to add little notes to each other in the corner or underneath whatever pretentious thing they have written. Lydia has no idea who this person is, but she’s pretty sure it’s a guy because the handwriting is sloppy and haphazard in a way Lydia has never seen a girl write.

Pretty soon, she has built a relationship with a person she has never met, and Lydia finds herself rushing home to see what he has put on her board. She hates how one day it will be an equation for her to solve and the next day it will be the lyrics to a Schoolhouse Rock song written out with Greek letters. And they keep revealing these tiny things about themselves in the bottom corner.

It gets to the point where Lydia thinks whoever she’s talking to might have more information about her than anyone else. Like, he asks the most random shit and she just answers because she likes _his_ answers. She likes him. It feels like she’s actually got a friendship with someone who she’s never laid eyes on.

And then one day she walks up the stairs to her dorm room and there’s this lanky dude slung on the floor in front of the room across the hall, back against the door. And he’s staring at his phone so Lydia has to step over him to get to her own door, which immediately sets her on edge, not the least because he is blocking her access to her whiteboard, and she sees that her answer has been erased and replaced. She wants to see what new message is there for her.

Lydia is huffing and puffing because it’s freezing outside and her nose is pink and she totally hadn’t been wearing the right boots and she just wants to get over this goddamn ragamuffin and get to her board, so Lydia _snaps_.

“Is there a reason why you’ve created an obstacle course in front of my room?”

And her first sight of Stiles Stilinski is in the harsh light of the dorm hallway, his face lit up by the blue light of his phone screen, eyes turning from annoyed to curious to a weird shade that slightly resembles awe as he scrambles up and hitches his backpack over his shoulder.

“Uh, no, I was just… uh, waiting for Scott.”

She relaxes slightly when he stops blocking her way.

“Why don’t you just have him text you when he gets back and go to your room like a normal human being?”

Lydia doesn’t know why she’s still talking to him. It’s definitely not because of the shape of his lips or the way his eyes are still so attentively on her in a way that should weird her out more than it does. He just seems… awake. That’s what his gaze is. He’s awake.

“My room is currently… occupied,” Stiles says, grimacing at that particular idea. “I’m a nomad,” he jokes.

The smile that Lydia offers him is perfunctory because her attention has already been redirected to her whiteboard. She uses to be more eager to see the large, show-offy writing, but now her eyes dart to the bottom corner for the personal question.

_Would you rather die by asphyxiation or being hit really fucking hard in the head?_

Charming.

Deciding that she’ll answer it later, so that she doesn’t have two weirdly eager eyes on her, she unlocks her room and walks into it, dropping her tote bag in its proper corner and kicking her shoes off with a sigh. When she turns around to shut the door, the kid is still looking at her.

“Hey,” he says, jutting his chin towards the board. You gonna answer that?”

Lydia frowns.

“How is that any of your business?”

He shrugs.

“I like your answers.”   
  
Lydia freezes.

“Um--”

She hasn’t said _um_ in forever. Now she has to start over.

“You’re Lydia, right?” asks the boy, moving closer to her door. He’s got this small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips, and it doesn’t match the rough scrape of his voice, which is scratchy, like he’s just woken up. “I’m Stiles. I’ve been writing on your board all semester.”

Suddenly, she is obsessed with the moles on his neck and the messy hair that’s sticking up on his head and the way he is nervously licking at his lips as he looks at her.

“Stiles,” she echoes, tracing it slowly with her tongue, almost too aware of how many times she wants to say it, over and over and over again. “That’s just… the weirdest name I’ve ever heard.”

He grins, ruffling his hair with his long, sinewy fingers, and _fuck_ , this is not going to end well for her, is it?

“You mean that?”

“I do,” Lydia says sincerely. He ducks his head.

“Thanks. That’s what a guy likes to hear.”

 

Lydia widens her door.

 

“So I’ve been keeping track of all the spelling mistakes you’ve been making in German.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks, crinkling his eyes as he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

 

“Mhm,” Lydia responds. “And you were great on the scientific history of circumcision, but you were lacking in the cultural discussion.”

  
“Okay then,” he says, nodding seriously. “Then I guess I better come in.”   
  
“I guess you should,” Lydia agrees.

  
She turns around, strides into her room, and, two hours later, is absolutely not surprised when he’s still cross legged on her bed, listening to her explain why she’d prefer asphyxiation over being hit really hard in the head.

Although how it takes them three hours to get to making out is something that is truly, deeply beyond her. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rongasm on tumblr if you want more head canons.


End file.
